Many and Splendored
by Emila
Summary: There are many different kinds of love, and all of them are precious. A tracing of Ling and Lan Fan's lives together, from childhood onwards.
1. Love is a Many Splendored Thing

**Disclaimer**: All ownership of the amazing world of Fullmetal Alchemist belongs to Arakawa.

**Author's Note**: I decided to explore the playground of Ling and Lan Fan's childhood together. All the events in the fic support the background I imagine for Ling and Lan Fan in my story, Dirge. I expect to have lots of fun bouncing between this fic and that one!

**Author's (Long-winded) Explanation**: Sometimes I need to write through the various ponderings that enter my brain. One such pondering was the nature of Ling's frequent collapsings. In my mind, Ling suffers from Iron Deficiency Anemia. (Mine is a mind which takes obvious gags in shows and gives them solid, medical explanations. :P) This fic was meant to develop that idea, and has now morphed into a monster. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

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><p>Love is a Many Splendored Thing<p>

When it comes down to it, Ling is a serious boy who loves to smile and tease, and Lan Fan is an easily-flustered girl who tries desperately to remain serious. The combination of the two is both amusing to one and embarrassing to the other, but regardless it exists true and strong. A Ling without a Lan Fan to rely upon could never exist in the world – a Lan Fan without a Ling to follow would have no purpose.

In fact, to put it scandalously plainly, Ling Yao loves Lan Fan. He always has, even if it took him years to realize it, from the moment he first met her at the age of six.

He had been short then, and skinny, a small wisp of a boy who, upon his sixth birthday, would be sent from his foster home to live with his second aunt's sister-in-law's cousin (or something equally convoluted). There Ling would train under the strict tutelage of Fu, a man stronger than a mountain and sharper than the blades that he wielded.

Even then, as a child, Ling was not stupid. He knew perfectly well, despite the assurances of his second aunt, that his going away to train was no honor, and was entirely his own fault. The clan had decided to send him to Fu's home in a kind of desperate, last-ditch effort to mold Ling into a plausible ruler.

Ling had heard the whispers all his life - even as an infant he had been depressingly weak. What had first been seen as a blessing – _"Imagine! A newborn baby that sleeps all through the night, and naps during the day!"_ – had soon become cause for alarm. _"He sleeps and sleeps and does not awaken!" "The young lord has collapsed in his play pen!"_

"The boy's blood is weak," the Imperial Healer had revealed to his second aunt. "It wanes where it should roar – a condition unfit for Emperor."

This was unacceptable. With the Yao Wife not showing any further inclination towards pregnancy – indeed, many suspected she had grown too old – the hopes and futures of the Yao clan rested solely on young Ling's shoulders. There was no other option. If the boy's blood was weak, why, then it must be strengthened!

And so the Twelfth Son would leave his foster home to live with Fu, and hopefully learn how to be strong.

For all his carefree smiles, young Ling understood perfectly well that he was to be sent away, and for a long while. How many times had he overheard his second aunt – wet-nurse and foster mother – speaking in low tones with her husband?

"_He fainted again, today. Just collapsed in the yard."_

"_The sun is too bright for him, Kama."_

"_He cannot always stay inside!"_

"_He tires too easily."_

"_No appetite."_

"_No endurance."_

"_No hope."_

Ling had listened, and understood, and therefore did not make a fuss about leaving. He was an heir, and heirs did not have temper tantrums. Still, that did not stop him from craning his neck out the back of the cart, peering around Kama's shoulder to stare at his slowly receding home, the family dog's barking still audible from the farm yard.

He did not want to go. He did not want to live among strangers. Kama and Han were his family, his parents. Fu sounded larger-than-life; the whole clan spoke of him as they would a legend: Fu, the warrior-guardian. It was said that he had protected four Yao Wives before Ling's own mother, and now he served as an instructor for all the family's bodyguards. Fu had once fought off over ten assailants at once, armed only with a single sword, and had emerged with not a scratch on him!

For a boy who could not even wake up in the mornings without growing faint, Ling quailed at the thought of standing next to so strong a man as Fu.

The journey to his new home was not long, Han easily directing the donkeys as Kama held Ling in her lap and hummed. The seat was not uncomfortable – Kama had recently announced that she and Han would be having yet another child, but the baby had not grown too large yet. Ling could still sit easily on Kama's lap, and he often poked at her rounded stomach curiously.

Now however, Ling could not be bothered with thoughts of a small little cousin growing in his foster mother's belly. It took three hours before they reached the place where Fu lived, Han driving slowly out of consideration for Kama and the baby. Ling looked at the passing scenery with steadily growing dread. What would his new life be like?

Beyond a doubt, Ling knew that this Fu must surely be a giant. The boy's young imagination had no trouble painting the warrior as fierce, tall and bulky. He probably even breathed fire, like those ogres-under-the-mountain he had read about in his lessons. They ate children, Ling had learned, especially bad ones. He huddled down in Kama's arms and glared at the passing trees.

By the time his foster father's cart had pulled up to a small and modest house, Ling knew, just _knew_, that his teacher would be at least three stories tall, blue-faced, and a screaming monster. Not even the lovely green and shaded meadow in which they had arrived could convince him otherwise. He eyed the small hut, tucked as it was peacefully into the roots of a tree-covered hill, with extreme suspicion, and clutched tightly to Kama's hand as she led him slowly into the house.

Even inside, all the smells were strange: oil and leaves, cobwebs and medicine. Ling assessed his new home with trepidation. While not so very different from Han and Kama's own house, it remained unfamiliar and unwelcome. Four doorways lined the walls of the reception room – Ling sat on the bamboo matts with his foster parents, and thought of his old home, his _real_ home.

He wanted the smells of plums and wheat, of wet dog and cousin Jiiro's inkwells. He wanted the familiar garden outside the window, not some large and spidery-looking old tree. He did _not _want to stay here, alone, while Kama and Han went back home to have a new baby! Tucking in his chin, Ling screwed his eyes tightly shut and fought the urge to cry. Heirs were brave! Heirs did not cry.

"Young master," Kama's low voice gently brought him back to the present. Looking up with a quiet sniffle and a frown, Ling saw that he had missed the arrival of three new people. Now they knelt before him in duck-order, oldest to youngest, a small girl and a wrinkled old man flanking a not-so-small and not-so-wrinkled adult.

As one unit, they bowed. The wrinkled man spoke first, looking directly into Ling's eyes with grave seriousness. "Welcome, young master. Your presence here honors this humble home." At every other word or so, the old man's grey moustache twitched. Ling would have found it funny in any other circumstance. Now however, it was strange and unknown – _Han _did not have a moustache. None of Ling's cousins had moustaches either.

Ling decided quite firmly that he _hated _moustaches.

But still, the man was small and old, and Ling liked old people. They never walked too quickly, and always sat in the shade with him whenever he grew dizzy, so Ling gave the old man a jerky nod of recognition.

"It is very nice to see you again, Kama and Han," the not-old-not-young man said in his turn. While unwrinkled, his face bore the same stoic calmness of the old man's, and he offered his welcome to Ling with solemnity. "It is nice to see you again as well, young master. My name is Zhuang."

Han leaned forward to catch Ling's eye around Kama. "Zhuang is the Imperial Guard of the Yao Wife, young master," he told Ling. "He has traveled very far, all the way from the palace, to welcome you here. It pays you great respect."

The man bowed again, and surprised Ling with a fond smile. "You will not remember me, but I used to care for you before my daughter was born. She is five, one year younger than yourself."

His daughter, Ling assumed, was the tiny third person kneeling restlessly beside Zhuang. The room grew silent, for it was her turn to speak, and she fidgeted with her fingers nervously.

"Lan Fan," her father prodded. "Greet the young master, who is to be emperor."

The young girl, Lan Fan, forced herself into stillness. Ling saw her take one deep breath – two, three, four – before she peeked up at him from underneath her bangs.

She was so small, and her skittishness put young Ling in mind of the tiny baby rabbits he and his cousin had once found in the farm shed. They too had peered up at him nervously with large dark eyes, small-boned, scruffy, and wary. This girl even had two small buns on either side of her head, like little round rabbit ears.

The unexpected familiarity surprised a smile on Ling's face, and he found himself grinning happily at the girl. She furrowed her brow in response, bowing quickly. "…'lo, young master," came a softly mumbling voice, and Ling felt his smile grow even wider. The baby rabbits had been shy, too.

"Lan Fan," the old man said, moustache twitching. "Show the young master where he is to sleep, and take him outside."

Kama made a concerned noise. "The young master does not do well out-of-doors…"

"Lan Fan will not take him far. And we have much to discuss."

Kama relented, giving Ling's hand a squeeze before releasing it. He was not so easily deterred, and he clutched at her knuckles desperately. Leaning down, Kama brushed his bangs away from his face. "Heirs are brave, young one," she whispered with a smile. "And this is not goodbye. I will call you in when we have finished talking."

Assured that his foster parents would not be leaving him, Ling stood and made to follow the little girl through one of the doors. The sudden movement left him dizzy, however, and he swayed on his feet before regaining focus. Sharp pain stabbed in his chest, causing him to wobble even more unsteadily.

He scowled, embarrassed as the adults regarded him gravely, and marched quickly towards Lan Fan. At least she had not seen him stumble, he thought, as she held open the door. As he passed, he heard the old man say, "I believe I understand the malady. His mother suffers from a similar…" before Lan Fan closed the door with a click.

Two bed rolls lay side-by-side beneath a window, faded and frayed blankets piled neatly on them both. The room was simple – humble bedding and a green chest for clothes the only furniture to be seen. But on the windowsill Ling noticed a careful arrangement of misshapen rocks, interspersed here and there with a feather or two, and a young fern sat potted in the corner.

"Thissus my room," Lan Fan mumbled with a light lisp, staring determinedly at the floor. "Gran'father says you c'n sleep in here, with me, till father leaves again."

It was a small space, not at all scary, and smelled like the outdoors. Ling stared, then remembered that heirs were polite, and looked back at Lan Fan. "I like it," he announced formally.

Her face pinked, and she smiled at the floorboards. "Father made me clean it up," she said shyly. "You c'n have the bed by the window, if you want."

"Okay."

"…"

"Those feathers look neat. And I like your rocks."

"Th-thank you. I…I like your bun. It looks nice."

Ling put an offended hand to his hair. "It's a _topknot_," he corrected. "Not a bun. Buns are for _girls_."

Lan Fan raised her hands thoughtfully to her own two side-buns.

"Oh," she realized.

"Those are called ox-horns," Ling informed her smartly. "But they're still buns. Topknots aren't buns."

"Oh."

"And it's _not_ nice. I don't like it. It pulls my hair."

"Oh," Lan Fan whispered now, wide-eyed. "Does it hurt?"

"Course not," he shrugged with extreme diffidence. "I'm a prince. It's just stupid hair."

"Oh."

"Know what else?" Ling settled himself down onto the floor. Lan Fan followed suit, tucking her feet beneath her and looking up at him with big black eyes, completely rapt. "I one time went to the _palace_."

Lan Fan gasped softly, Ling puffed out his chest importantly, and the friendship was sealed. The young prince chatted happily at Lan Fan, quite forgetting his worries and nerves in the face of her wide-eyed attention. He liked her - she was smaller even than him; all of his cousins were already old enough to have started working in the fields. The youngest of them had just turned ten, practically a grown-up in Ling's world.

This novelty of having somebody his own age to talk to was wonderful, and Ling thought that it might not be so bad, living here, if Lan Fan stayed too.

Ling's mood brightened considerably at the thought of having an actual friend, and not just friendly cousins. It stopped him in the middle of his listing his favorite foods ("I like all kinds, but my very favorite is pickled plums. You've never had them? They're so good! Pickled plums with rice!").

"I think we're friends now," he confided seriously. Lan Fan said nothing, only ducked her head again, but Ling saw her smile before she did so. "You'll be my first one. Okay?" Silence. "Okaaaay?"

Finally, Lan Fan looked up. Her face was still red, eyes averted nervously, but a happy smile stretched across it. "Y-you'll be my first friend too," she whispered.

Thrilled, Ling leaned forward. "Really?"

"Well, Luan sometimes brings our cousins over, but thass not the same."

"Who's Luan?"

"M' sister."

"Oh. Doesn't she live here too?"

Lan Fan shook her head. "No. Just me and gran'father."

Wait a minute…Ling frowned. "But then, what about…Fu?"

Lan Fan mirrored his confused expression. "Thass gran'father," she said slowly. "Thass his name."

"Really?" Ling sat up straight, shocked. "That _old man_ – ?"

But before Ling could fully express his disbelief - Fu was an old man? Not an ogre? - a soft voice came from behind the two children.

"Young master," Kama leaned against the doorway, a hand resting on her belly. Her long black braid hung down over her shoulder. "We are finished discussing the arrangements. Come and say goodbye to Han."

Ling shot to his feet, all fear returning. "You're leaving?"

"No, no, only Han," Kama corrected gently. "I'm staying with you. Han must return to the fields, and watch over your cousins. But the baby is going to make me feel very tired, so I won't be much help at home for very long. So I will be staying with you, for a while, to help Fu get settled with the two of you. Lan Fan," she said. "Zhuang is going back to the palace as well. He'll be riding a bit of the way with Han, so he's leaving now too. Will you come and say goodbye?"

Lan Fan clambered to her feet, shy again, and looked so grave that Ling did not think twice about taking her hand. He held it still even as they walked through the now-empty reception room, and kept his grip while standing on the front porch. From there they saw that Han and Zhuang had already loaded into Han's cart, the donkey twitching his long ears impatiently.

"Goodbye, young master!" Han called, grinning broadly. "I will be back in two weeks! Take care of Kama and the baby for me!"

Zhuang sat next to Han, the donkey's reins in his hands, and while he did not wave or shout, he did smile gently at the two children. Head ducked slightly under the weight of Fu's hand, Lan Fan's curled and tiny hand waved solemnly back at her father.

When at last the cart had drawn out of sight, and the sun had fallen beneath the face of the hill, Kama sighed and put a hand to her back. She stretched, the rounded bump of her belly showing beneath her _ru _shirt. "Well. I'll just fix something for dinner then. Young master," she said. "Fu has told me that he might know a way to make you less tired all of the time. We might have to change the foods that you eat, but it will probably make you feel much better."

"Indeed," Fu spoke, looking down at Ling sternly, but not without kindness. This small old man was so different from what Ling had imagined, but still he felt a twinge of fear. "Many meats, particularly fish, and a great deal of greenery. You shall not be permitted to take tea with us either, unless it is green or made with herbs. You will need your strength, young prince. Tomorrow I will start your training."

Ling swallowed. "Y-you will?"

A pressure on his right hand, and Lan Fan leaned close to whisper, "I train tomorrow too," before she squeezed his hand again.

Well, Ling thought, that wouldn't be so bad.

"And since the young master is getting his special food for dinner tonight," Kama smiled down at Lan Fan. "Lan Fan gets to choose desert. What should we have?"

Lan Fan smiled again at Ling. "Pickled plums with rice."

Ling grinned.

Not so bad at all.


	2. Sweat Saves Blood

**Disclaimer**: All ownership of the amazing world of Fullmetal Alchemist belongs to Arakawa.

**Author's Note**: Fu's character is amazing. He is surprisingly harsh on Lan Fan in the series, punishing her for failing in her duties, which led me to believe he had a heavy influence in her discipline as a child. This includes her training and, by default, Ling's as well. The mindset of an old warrior teaching children to fight is extremely interesting. That said, this chapter doesn't have much fighting. But there is tough love! That counts, right?

Also, much credit must go towards RaposaBranca and her Ling/Lan Fan art. She's on deviantart, and I would highly recommend you check out her stuff! Thanks for your work, hun - it was a big inspiration behind this chapter, particularly the cuddling with Ling and Lan Fan. (cuddling Ling = cuddLING! Yesssss)

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><p>Sweat Saves Blood<p>

Aside from one hazily-remembered incident in which his half-sister had tried to assassinate him on his third birthday, Ling could not recall a time before in all his six years of life when he had felt closer to death.

"S-surely iss not so bad, young master?" Lan Fan knelt at the table and looked down with concern at her prone lord, holding a wet cloth against the small boy's forehead.

"Lan Fan, be silent!" Fu barked from across the table. He glared at his granddaughter sternly. "It is not your place to tell the young master what is and is not so. Do not _ever_ make light of the sufferings of the royal family." Another low moan escaped from Ling's gritted teeth, and Fu sighed. "And, young lord, stop your belly-aching. It truly is not so bad."

"I'm dying!" Ling protested, opening his eyes to stare dolefully at Lan Fan's worried, upside-down face. "And Lan Fan is the only one who cares!"

"With all due respect, young prince," Kama's voice was thick with amusement as she ladled out soup into four small yellow bowls, one for each of them. "You were also dying yesterday evening, and the evening before that, and all the nights before then." Replacing the lid over the large pot of stewed fish and leeks, Kama reached over to tickle Ling's round belly playfully. "You always seem to recover miraculously after dinner."

Ignoring the chuckling adults in the room, Ling continued to practice his piteous look on Lan Fan. "That's because Kama's soup is magic," he said very seriously, repressing a smile when Lan Fan's eyes widened.

"Really?" she breathed, looking down at the cloudy stew reverently. Fu's moustache twitched with amusement.

"Young lord," he coughed. "It is unjust to toy with your subjects. Dinner is ready; you must take your meals on time."

Wincing, the small prince complied, and a sudden _whoosh_ to his head made him sway on the spot.

Immediately, but without panic, Fu leaned forward across the table and clapped his hand behind Ling's nape. His weathered palm easily cradled the whole of Ling's small head. "Breathe deeply," Fu instructed. "Your blood is simply tired from the day's work. Breathe, and remember your meditations."

Screwing shut his eyes and ignoring the nausea swirling in his stomach, Ling did his best to repeat the lessons he had learned since his stay. Heeding Fu's advice, he allowed the discomfort to register in his mind before passing it over.

"_Pain is both fleeting and ever-present," _Fu had told Ling the first day the prince had been unable to complete a simple jog up the back hill. _"You know this feeling, it is familiar to you. You must acknowledge it, not indulge it. If you can suffer it, you will feel better after you have taken your meal."_

Inhaling and exhaling noisily through his nose, Ling soon established a rhythm of breaths that - while not completely erasing the nausea – did help to ease a bit of his dizziness. "Heirs are strong," he thought. "_I'm_ strong. And sitting up is easy."

"Good," Fu nodded with approval when Ling had regained his balance. He gruffly released his hold on the boy's head and resumed his own seat. There he helped Kama rearrange the few plates which had been scattered during his sudden reaching for the prince.

She thanked him gratefully, and was obviously trying quite hard to appear unconcerned about her foster son. Unfortunately, her smile stretched just a shade too wide, and her hands trembled from where they showed beneath her robe's voluminous sleeves. Ling hated to worry her.

Lan Fan sat next to him, silent and grave and wide-eyed as an owl, watching her young friend and master teeter to his knees.

To Fu's credit, the old man certainly knew how to read his charges. Just as the very appealing urge to just _lay back down_ swooped through Ling, Fu spoke harshly. "That is enough. Sit up. Now."

Sore as his bones may be, weeks of training with Fu had done little to alleviate his awe of the old man. If anything, Ling respected him even more. And if Fu said sit up, you sat up. Fu said many things – "up at dawn", "do not eat that", "run to there", "jump to here", "look at my eyes when I speak to you – do not pick your nose!" – and Ling had learned to do them all with minimal complaint.

He sat.

A small part of Ling rejoiced; Fu's strict regime of diet and training had begun to show noticeable results. He could now go much longer without dizziness, and sometimes he went days without collapsing. But the larger, more exhausted part whined that being strong _hurt_, and bush tea tasted _gross_, and why should emperors be so strong anyway?

Of course, Ling knew perfectly why – Fu had told him again and again as they meditated in the mornings before breakfast.

_Breathe in_. _"Focus your mind on a single thought. A single truth."_

_Breathe out. "Why must you train so hard? Why must you get stronger?" Breathe in._

"_The answer is your truth. An emperor exists to serve his people."_

_Breathe out. "You must train, and grow stronger," breathe in. "For your people."_

_Breathe out. "…young lord, you are drooling. Wake up and pay attention." _

Despite the drool, Fu's message had eventually stuck in the small prince's mind. Ling had always known that he was heir – Kama constantly told him not to slouch, or whine, or tease the chickens, because those are Things Heirs Don't Do. But it had never truly sunk in that "heir" meant "king-one-day".

Ling quite liked the idea, it made him feel all sorts of important, and so he sat very straight at the kitchen table, ignoring the twinges in his muscles as he did so. Once he had picked up his spoon, the rest of the table followed suit. It was an unstated rule in Fu's household – the heir must always eat first.

This rule made perfect sense to Ling – after all, an emperor was meant to protect his people, right? Dinner must be no exception. Therefore he sternly directed the table, as he had done every night: "Hold on. I'll try it."

He took a small sip of the soup, slurping loudly. Across the table Kama and Fu waited indulgently, food untouched before them. Ling furrowed his brow, deliberating, before giving a sharp nod. "Good. It's not too hot." He turned seriously to Lan Fan. "You won't burn yourself."

But just to be safe, the small boy leaned over and blew lightly over Lan Fan's bowl. His kingly duty to protect his people completed, Ling happily tucked-in to his own meal. Head bowed over the savory dish, he completely missed Kama's silent giggle and Fu's moustache twitching to hide a smile.

"This food seems to agree with you, young lord," Kama noted, expertly flicking back the trailing sleeves of her robe before taking her tea. "Already you appear more hale than before."

Ling beamed.

"Gran'father," Lan Fan lisped softly. "What does 'hale' mean?"

"It means strong, or healthy, my granddaughter." With a wide smile, Ling looked over at Lan Fan and positively _preened. _He was _hale_! After living so long with people telling him that he had weak blood, Ling never got tired of hearing compliments.

Lan Fan returned his smile with a tiny one of her own, and Ling did not mind her lack of enthusiasm. _Everything_ about his friend was small: her smile, her nose, her side-buns, and even her voice. But that was fine with him – Ling grinned big enough for the both of them.

"Oh." There was a lull, in which Lan Fan stared down at her lap with a light frown.

"Gran'father," she asked again. "I know iss bad to 'make light of the suff'rings of the royal family'," she quoted dutifully. Fu nodded. "Is it okay to _ask_ about the suff'rings of the royal family?"

The wrinkles around his eyes deepened with his fond smile. "Yes, so long as you are polite."

"Oh." When the young girl did not pursue the conversation, the family continued to eat in silence. Several minutes passed, before - "young lord, will you please tell me why you weren't 'hale' before you came here, please?" Lan Fan asked, with very careful politeness.

Ling did not know the answer. He knew that he had always felt light-headed before coming to Fu's house, but he did not understand what the old man had done to make all of that go away. He still missed his old home, and thought often what Han and his cousins were up to, but Ling had never felt better in his life. He just didn't know why. Luckily, Kama spared Ling from admitting his ignorance by answering in his stead.

"It was largely my own fault, Lan Fan," she said serenely, neat black bangs falling into her eyes. "The young lord requires a very specific type of food. Without it, his blood grows too slow, and his muscles weak. But I did not know this, and continued feeding him the wrong foods without giving him the proper time to rest, and so the young lord grew sick."

"Food made the young lord sick?" Startled, Lan Fan eyed Ling's bowl suspiciously. "How?"

This time, Fu took up the explanation. "The prince takes after his royal mother in this sense, Lan Fan. Even before she was taken to the palace, she was like a small sapling – and the prince is the same way. A sapling requires sunshine and water to grow strong, else it wilts. You cannot feed a tree with wine and rice. The young lord needs meat and green leaves like a tree needs sun and rain."

Ling did not know how he felt about being a tree. But then again, trees were tall, and nice to sit next to. He wondered if one day _he_ would grow tall as well.

"Oh," Lan Fan said, nodding. Then, without hesitation, she set down her spoon with a _click. _Reaching across her plate, she picked up a set of chopsticks and began to deftly pick out chunks of fish and kale from her soup. Large drops of broth pattered onto the shiny surface of the table as Lan Fan carefully doled them out, from her bowl into Ling's. He smiled and pushed over his rice.

"Trade you," he whispered conspiratorially. She blushed, and accepted the bowl happily.

"Well done, granddaughter," Fu praised. "You must always put the needs of the young lord before your own." To Ling he instructed, "Pay special attention to eat the kale, young lord. You will need all your strength in the morning."

"Okay," Ling said. "Why?"

"Because, tomorrow morning we shall begin your training."

Ling paused, a hunk of limp seaweed halfway to his mouth, before shaking his head. "No," he said slowly. "We already started that. See?" He held up his left arm. "I'm already very strong."

Kama's cough sounded very suspiciously like laughter; Fu did not share in her mirth. "These past few weeks have been to condition you, my prince, and they have done so. Aside from the occasional spell, you are now as strong as any young man your age.

"But that is not enough. You must be _stronger_ than the other boys. You must be stronger than everyone. It is an absolute imperative."

"Must he become stronger than you, as well, Fu?" Kama teased lightly. Fu 'harrumphed', picking up his bowl to take a large bite of his steamed vegetables.

"No need to set unrealistic goals," he replied gruffly. "At any rate, we will start slowly, to get you used to your training."

Ling groaned. "Oh come on!" Heirs did not whine, Kama had said, but Ling knew that whining and complaining were two very different things. "I _already_ train!"

"You have trained so far to function as a boy," Fu corrected. "It is time to take it to the next level. Now you must train to function as a warrior."

Ling mimicked Fu's earlier 'humph', forgetting that heirs do not slouch and sinking deeply onto his ankles. "Well what about Lan Fan? What's _she_ gonna do all day?"

"Lan Fan has already begun her training. She does not study the same arts you will be learning, but her lessons are no less strenuous." Seeing the young prince's crestfallen expression, Fu added: "And they will be taking place at the same time as yours, so Lan Fan will continue to train with you."

Placated, but still not very happy with the situation, Ling threw out his final complaint. "_Kama_ doesn't have to train though. Kama isn't getting strong at _all_."

"That is quite enough, young lord," Fu said sharply. Ling winced. "Heirs do not whine."

"I'm not whining. I'm complaining," Ling suggested meekly.

"You are acting like a petulant child. And while you are heir, you have quite a ways until you become the emperor. Do not concern yourself with the affairs of others just yet – you will have plenty to worry about on your own." Glancing at Kama out of the corner of his eye, Fu added, "And you should never underestimate the strength of a woman."

Kama bowed her head, braided pigtails rolling over her shoulders. In a flash of disorienting perspective, Ling saw that Kama – whom he'd always considered as a larger-than-life superhuman - suddenly looked very small next to Fu, despite the steadily-growing bump in her belly.

Smiling, she pushed Ling's bowl forward. "Eat, my lord. Look, Lan Fan has already finished her food. It is almost time for bed."

Ling gasped, looking over to where Lan Fan sat quietly – her bowls all but licked clean. "No way! I lost again?" He picked up his bowl and scolded his friend through messy slurps. "That doesn't count, Lan Fan. You only finished first 'cuz you gave me most of your food!"

Lan Fan did not correct him, but her self-satisfied smile smacked of triumph.

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><p>Elderly and composed he may be, Fu was not without his own fair share of agendas. In fact, he operated under the staunch belief that <em>every<em> person had at least two or three tucked-away interests somewhere, no matter all their attempts at selflessness.

Kama, for example, may have seemed generous and self-sacrificing in staying behind to help Fu care for the two children.

"_While Young Master stays with you, there will be an extra mouth to feed, more work around the house. With your permission, I'd like to stay as well to help in any way I can."_

Fu had heard perfectly well what Kama had not said. Han had been perfectly comfortable with Fu's skills as a warrior to guard the prince. Clearly, Kama was not. She would remain behind, and keep a close eye on her charge, under the guise of pure generosity.

Yet Han himself was not without ulterior motives. One may think that letting his wife stay far from home, for the sake of the well-being of the Yao prince, had been an act of selflessness on Han's behalf.

(Although, to assume that Han had _let_ her stay with Fu would be an egregious error. Nobody ever _let_ Kama do anything. She was a sweet girl, but she was also a Yao. You did not make the mistake of telling a Yao woman what to do.)

Fu knew that the arrangement appealed to the farmer greatly. After all Kama was young, barely into her mid-twenties, and pregnant with their third child.

But most notably, Kama served as the surrogate mother of the Twelfth Son. Ling had developed an extreme emotional attachment to the woman – a fact well known to the other high-level clans.

Han's farm had guards, all focused on protecting the young lord. And the young lord only. But not all attacks had to be physical. An assassin could all too easily target the unprotected foster mother of the young prince, and completely devastate Ling in the process. In her current state, Fu had no doubt Han worried for his wife's safety. He may have let Kama go with all the appearance of reluctance, but Han considered his wife to be much safer in the well-hidden house of a celebrated bodyguard than his own very public farm.

Even Fu operated under a motivation other than honor and duty. After all, Ling would one day become the emperor – Fu literally held the future of the country in his war-beaten hands. Only a fool would fail to take advantage of the fact.

Fu was no fool. Ling Yao was young, a mere child, and children were very impressionable. So long as the boy remained malleable, the future of Xing remained malleable. Fu saw no shame in teaching the boy more than martial arts; if Ling Yao grew up believing, as Fu did, in the importance of the people, then Xing would be all the closer to Fu's idea of a perfect country.

Fu had seen how the other clans reared their heirs, bred on ambition and greed and pompous arrogance. Ling Yao would be different, and that difference would end up earning him the throne.

However, much to his pleasure, Fu had soon discovered that he would not have to make _quite_ so much of an effort enforcing his philosophy on the child, and he suspected the credit belonged to none other than Lan Fan.

Her friendship with the prince was an unexpected, but extremely beneficial, consequence of Ling's tutelage. Hopefully the friendly attachment would bleed over into how the prince considered all of his people – as precious individuals instead of mere pawns.

So Fu did not despair as other warriors might have done, when he went to awaken Ling the next morning to find the young prince cuddled up closely to his granddaughter.

Having ignored his own bedroll in favor of Lan Fan's, Ling slept with his arms snug about his friend's waist and his face nuzzling her belly. One of her legs had been completely trapped by both of Ling's, and Fu suspected that should he lift the boy up by his scruff, Lan Fan would inevitably follow.

Not that his granddaughter seemed to mind. Lan Fan herself had curled her free leg loosely around Ling, one hand buried tightly in his shirt's collar. Head back, mouth open, and snoring lightly – Fu had never seen Lan Fan so at ease before in his life.

They cuddled closer than a pair of slumbering puppies, almost inextricably intertwined. Fu paused with his hand on the weathered doorframe and allowed his old heart a soft moment of indulgence to watch his young charges sleep. Surely a good thing all-around, he thought, for Ling to develop a strong friendship with a servant.

Though in the boy's case, "friendship" was not the word. Truthfully Ling seemed to have developed a strong case of hero-worship towards Lan Fan. (When Fu had first ordered Ling to walk up the hill with no breaks, the prince had stoutly refused. When Fu sent Lan Fan up the hill in his stead, Ling scampered after her like a baby goose.)

This cheerful adoration did wonders for Lan Fan as well. Living alone with only a stern old man for company surely did the girl no favors. Aside from the occasional visit from her sisters, Ling served as Lan Fan's sole companion, and she was fast becoming quite protective of the boy. Yes, Fu thought, this friendship had many beneficial uses.

Lan Fan sneezed in her sleep, and Ling muttered something under his breath about camels. Fu straightened, smoothed out the dark fabric of his gi, and decided that they had rested long enough.

Over the duration of the boy's stay, Fu had employed many tactics in waking Ling, from loud bangs to chilled buckets of water. Today, he thought, he would try something different.

It would be a test, of sorts.

With a careful eye on the dozing children, Fu concentrated on his not-unimpressive aura, allowing it to fill Lan Fan's tiny room. He moderated its release in waves, trying to gauge at what level his charges would register his presence.

To his great surprise, it was Ling and not Lan Fan, who reacted first. The fact would have proved promising, had the boy not simply cracked open his eyes, snorted, and then nuzzled back down onto Lan Fan's stomach.

Fu raised one eyebrow – deliberating between amusement and disappointment – before establishing his presence one notch further. Almost instantly, Lan Fan snapped her eyes open. Her response pleased Fu much more, despite the belated realization. She half-rose on her futon, one arm groggily supporting her weight and the other curling protectively around Ling's head.

"Gran'father?" she whispered tiredly when she recognized the intruder. "'s it time to wake up now?"

"Yes," Fu nodded curtly. "Rouse the young Lord and have him outside in ten minutes. Eat quickly."

Rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes, Lan Fan startled and looked down. As he left, Fu heard his granddaughter ask: "how did you end up here, master?"

"I didn't. You're dreaming."

"Oh….but, gran'father says iss time to get up."

"Nooooo…"

Fu's moustache twitched.

By the time the two children had woken, taken their breakfast, and tumbled outside, Fu had only been waiting for twelve minutes.

"For your tardiness," he spoke sternly. "You, Lan Fan, will run around the base of the hill five times. If you are not finished in half an hour, there shall be additional penalties. Young Master, you will run as well, but up and over the hill. Five times as well. Be finished by the time Lan Fan has completed her third lap."

Ling laughed almost hysterically. Lan Fan shuffled her feet.

"Go," Fu said. "If you fail, you must clean the urinal."

They left like a shot, leaving Fu with the task of attempting to meditate while blocking out the heavy pants of his granddaughter and the wild curses of his future emperor.

"Done," Ling announced some time later. Fu cracked open one eye to see the boy drenched in sweat and red-faced. After directing Ling towards the well to cool off with a bucket of water, Fu stood up solemnly.

"You will arrive at training on time in the future, correct young lord?"

Ling's response was half-gurgled, the boy's face practically submerged, but affirmative.

"Good. Now stand up, and watch me." Once he had the young lord's attention, Fu took a deep breath, and moved into a series of katas so quick that Ling dropped the bucket with surprise. Finishing off in a deep bow, Fu turned to look at the awe-struck boy. "That is the first form you shall learn. It is the first of many in the Changquan style. As you progress, we will move into other styles. For now, watch once more – and then you will repeat it. Precision is key. You must mimic this form exactly."

Ling stared with uncharacteristically wide eyes as Fu crouched down low. His movements this time were slow, exaggerated for the sake of his audience.

Imagining an enemy attacking from his right, he moved from the crouch into a side-kick, flashing his fist down towards the ground to finish off the fallen man before turning, delivering a palm-strike to a second phantom attacker.

Next – a swift uppercut designed to knock another opponent to the ground, followed by a swift stomp which would shove their nose back into the brain. Grimly Fu mimed a jump-kick, his leg a ninety-degree angle, which he had used in the past to crack an enemy's jaw.

Lunging forward, he swung both hands around in a motion that would box a man's ears and throw off his sense of balance, giving an opening for the final blow: a sharp jab with a pointed hand, hard and fast enough to pierce through the soft skin of the belly. With a twist, emphasizing the importance of clenching the fist and jerking upwards, Fu demonstrated clearly to Ling a form that looked graceful, and would spill a man's intestines if done properly.

He repeated the kata twice more, Ling watching studiously, before Lan Fan approached the two of them. "If this form is not perfected by midday," he told Ling. "You will run to the edge of the meadow and back thirteen times tomorrow morning. Now practice."

To Lan Fan he directed: "Perform the Dao, Jian, and Nandao sequences in their entirety. Then come to me – today you will practice with me on the throwing range."

Fu sat beneath the large tree on the edge of the practice field, calling out corrections and criticisms towards his students. They both worked with a hard-edged determination blazing across their rounded faces. As Lan Fan mimed striking a blade into a man's forehead, and Ling stumbled through a form that would take incapacitate several attackers at once, Fu watched and reminded himself of the necessity. There were forty-nine other clans aiming towards the young prince's death.

But Lan Fan's aim was deadly – Ling's form already true – and Fu had over three years to polish their skills. One day, he swore, those clans would wish that they had never crossed paths with the blood of the Yao family.

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><p>AN:<p>

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